“I don’t understand the American’s reasons, but I recommend we close this end of the box,” Lozak insisted.
“No need,” Sergoff stated calmly. “If, for some reason, he decides to escape in our direction, we are here… waiting.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t—” Lozak began.
“We wait,” Danilov responded firmly. “You see, Captain Lozak, we appear to be the one submarine Imperator has lost.” The admiral’s face was expressionless now, though his features grew hardened as he sensed time was becoming precious. “The American knows this is my flagship and that is why he came directly at us. Every officer in every military organization in the world understands from his earliest days that the primary target is the leader or the radio… that is Seratov! If he hasn’t already guessed that we have fooled him, he’ll know shortly. There is nothing quite so frightening as the unknown… and I intend to remain the unknown.” His heavy eyebrows rose and he extended his hands, palms up. “Relax, Captain. I have no objections to your desire to sink him. It’s just that Captain Sergoff has been with me for years and understands my methods. We will wait and watch.”
“Man your battle stations again, Ross. Let’s see if we can open one side of that box for Hal Snow.” Andy Reed found himself enjoying the taste of blood much more than he would have expected.
“Same process as before, or do we just go in balls to the wall?”
“No need for hide-and-seek. He’s been aware we’re somewhere behind him since we blew apart his buddy — maybe hoped he’d find some safety among his friends.” Reed was sensing the spirit of the hunt. “I’ll bet he feels less secure since Snow started running around in circles. All of a sudden, I wonder if this one doesn’t think maybe one of his friends on the other side will help him.”
“Range to target,” the captain requested.
“About thirty miles, Captain… just a little aft of the starboard beam now. It looks like he may be picking up some more speed… and his aspect’s changing some now.”
“I want a course to intercept,” the captain explained to the OOD. “And a time to firing position.”
“I don’t know, sir. If he keeps upping his speed, he’s going to outrun us—”
Reed interrupted. “Imperator’s still in one of her mad circles, isn’t she?”
“Seems to be. Admiral. She should be coming toward us again soon.”
“Watch our target. See if he doesn’t inch away when he sees that huge submarine turning right at him… even if she is a long distance off. When you don’t understand the other guy, you give him a little space.”
Less than ten minutes passed before sonar reported that the Russian seemed to be turning toward an intercept course with Houston. “He knows we’re coming after him, Ross. You may have to waste a fish to keep him on his toes. As long as we fire first, I think we have the advantage… he’s got to be nervous.”
“We’ll be in position for a shot in thirty-five minutes, Captain.”
“No more than thirty if he decides to turn more toward us. Make it twenty-five… and have that fire control tracking party of yours ready to shoot in less.”
Olympia’s captain watched with a studied interest as the sonar chief transferred to paper the projected locations of the sounds he had been interpreting in sonar minutes before. They were based on a jumble of sound and satellite transmissions of Reed’s last analysis, now three hours old. At that distance, a good deal more than fifty miles to the closest one, he estimated, there was little difference in bearing. They were all dead ahead a few degrees either side of his bow. Imperator was identified with a solid black mark. There was no doubting her signature. On the far side of her, he had readings on what could be two submarines. The two between Olympia and Imperator appeared to be Alfas, though one might be an Akula. They bore many similarities.
“No doubt they got her pinpointed,” the captain mused. “I guess we ought to go after these two,” he indicated to his XO. “They’re closer. What do you think? If we run that reactor for all it’s worth, we ought to be on top of them in at least three hours if they remain in that area?”
The XO nodded. “I don’t see why not. No one’s going to be leaving Imperator. Of course, at flank speed, we’re not exactly going to sneak up on them.”
“We’re not supposed to. Andy Reed said that when the Russians started making noise, we all better.” What had seemed absurd at the time now made a great deal of sense. “We’ll man battle stations when we’re about thirty miles out.”
When Imperator ceased her wild circling, she possessed a contour map of the ice above her that read like a road map. She had also located and identified each Soviet submarine. With her nose now pointed toward the nearby North Pole and her stem toward Murmansk, she held to the rear a Sierra and an Akula. They were closing cautiously, hugging the ice and keeping about forty miles between them. There was nothing directly ahead, though Snow had hoped there would be some sign of Danilov’s position. Somehow Seratov had disappeared into thin air — yet there was no place to go with ten feet of ice above.
On his starboard bow and running aft toward his beam were a Soviet Alfa and Andy Reed’s Houston closing both of them. On the port bow were two more Soviet submarines, an Alfa and an Akula, both separated like those astern and closing very cautiously. Caesar had reported that astern of them Olympia’s signature was evident, approaching at flank speed.
The holographic imager presented a three-dimensional picture. All the participants were oriented to the center stage where Imperator bobbed and weaved quietly on the erratic path devised by Caesar. Those on the outside advanced, hugging the ice, twisting around ice formations as they moved inward with an occasional ping for safety. It was a puppet show in slow motion.
Carol Petersen was now in the control room, at Snow’s request, in touch with the computer from a remote console. “Once again, this computer seems to agree with you, Captain. The Alfa to starboard is the least of our worries now. Houston appears to be in an attack pattern, according to Caesar.”
“How about the two to port?” Snow experienced a weird fascination in comparing his estimate of the situation to the computer’s. The latter depended on a complex program in contrast to Snow’s years of experience and a sixth sense that rarely had failed him.
“The closest — the Akula — could present a problem when he nears torpedo range. But it looks like they’ve got to worry about Olympia within an hour or so at the speed she’s making. They should turn in her direction — if for nothing more than the integrity of Danilov’s strategy, according to Caesar — in order to avoid penetration of their artificial perimeter.”
“I can’t argue with that either,” Snow concluded. “So I suppose he says I ought to go after those two astern first?”
“That’s a decision, Captain. Caesar never makes decisions. I’ve been asking him to evaluate the threat. He concurs with you in that regard. As far as how you should imperil your command, that’s up to you.” She looked over her shoulder teasingly. “I could tell him the captain is unsure of his next step, but Caesar would just query the statement since he’s not programmed to make strategic decisions for you. But he can run a hell of an attack with his eyes shut!” She immediately regretted the last statement, sure that once again Snow would be provoked.